Troika
by Love Is A Green Girl
Summary: During the battle at the end of Not Fade Away three warriors relive the memories of the moments before the battle. Set in an epic poetry kind of style.
1. Angel

TROIKA

By: Love Is A Green Girl

Disclaimer: I do not own Angel and I do not own the dialog in the flashback scenes which is really sad for me.

ANGEL

Rain bleeds  
from  
the sky.

It makes  
** Angel's**  
sword slip  
in his  
** hands.**

It filters  
into the iris  
of his eyes;  
burning like  
hell-fire.

Though the  
rain obstructs  
his vision,  
it does not  
keep him from  
fighting  
the war he  
** cannot win.**

He can't seem  
to get the  
upper hand  
in his battle  
to slay  
the dragon.

Perhaps  
it would be  
better if he  
died in  
this battle.

**There is so little to live for.**

No Cordelia,  
No Fred,  
No Wesley.  
Even Gunn  
is gone.

So much  
of his family  
has been lost,  
** still he fights**  
the legions  
of darkness  
because he must.

It's what he  
does;  
averting the  
apocalypse,  
saving the  
world.

**If he doesn't, who else will?**

Every time  
he dodges  
the dragon's  
fiery breath  
and sharp talons

he replays the same…

_Love Is A Green Girl here, this is my first fic so please be nice with your reviews._

_Go back and read the words in bold you might find a suprise._


	2. memory

…MEMORY

_Hamilton throws Angel__  
across the room  
for what must be  
the fifth time._

_His body meets  
with the concrete steps._

_Pain shoots through  
Angel's limbs  
then numbs to a  
dull throb._

_"Let me say this  
as clearly as I can.  
You cannot beat me.  
I am part of them  
The Wolf,  
The Ram,  
and The Hart.  
Their strength flows  
through my veins.  
My blood is filled  
with their ancient power,"  
Hamilton enunciates  
condescendingly._

_Blood._

_Power._

_The words give  
Angel an idea._

_"Can you pick  
the one word  
you probably  
shouldn't have said,"  
he says._

_An insolent smirk  
spreads across the  
contours of  
Angel's face,  
before he  
transforms he  
features into  
his vampire visage._

_The demon is  
out to play,  
and it is hungry._

_He latches his  
elongated  
fangs on to  
Hamilton's jugular._

_His blood  
is rich,  
red,  
and radiates  
power._

_Angel takes it  
into himself,  
until Hamilton  
pulls his head away._

_An irate  
gray suited lawyer  
tries to thrust  
Angel to the  
other side of the  
room again  
but this time  
he fails._

_Angel uses  
the force pushing  
against him  
to revolve  
in the air._

_He lands  
gracefully;  
wiping a remnant  
of blood from his lip  
and shakes  
his vampire façade  
away leaving  
only his angelic  
face behind._

_"You really are full of it.  
What was it you where  
saying about ancient power?"_

_They trade punches.  
Angel has weakened  
Hamilton considerably,  
even so  
Hamilton still  
manages to seize  
Angel's throat.  
His hands crushing  
his windpipe with  
inhuman strength._

_Hamilton gloats,  
"You don't really think  
you're going to win  
this do you?  
You don't stand a chance.  
We are legion.  
We are forever."_

_Angel wrenches  
his neck from  
Hamilton's grip._

_"I guess forever  
just got a hell  
of a lot shorter,"  
Angel grunts triumphantly._

_He annihilates Hamilton  
with a punch  
so severe it  
snaps his neck  
with a sickening crack._

_Hamilton's body falls  
to the ground._

_"Is he dead?"_

_Angel looks up  
from the body  
and comes  
face to face  
with his son._

_"Yeah, he's dead."  
Angel answers._

_Suddenly,  
the foundation  
beneath their feet  
begins to tremble._

_Windows  
start to crack  
making the sound  
of tinkling bells._

_The LA branch of  
Wolfram and Hart  
is collapsing._

_"That isn't good is it?"  
Connor asks with hesitation._

_"Wolfram and Hart.  
Looks like they're  
taking the gloves off."_

_As Angel finishes speaking  
the walls begin to shift._

_"What do we do?"_

_Connor doesn't sound  
worried at all.  
he sounds ready  
to jump into  
the fight to  
save the world._

_But that's not  
what Angel wants  
for him._

_That's not what  
Angel gave his  
son up for._

_"You go home."_

_"Huh?"  
Connor sounds in confusion._

_"This is my fight,"  
he replies forcefully._

_"That's some serious macho…"_

_Angel's son never  
get to finish his  
sentence  
before a large chunk  
of ceiling smacks  
him in the back  
leaving him dazed._

_Fear creeps up  
Angel's throat._

_A concrete  
support beam  
crashes with abandon  
to the lobby floor._

_"Go home now."_

_Connor stares at him in shock._

_"They'll destroy you."_

_His son's voice is  
a strange combination  
of admiration  
and sadness._

_Perhaps Connor loves  
his father after all._

_Angel catches  
the boy's eye  
with his own,_

_"Not as long as you're  
okay they can't.  
Go."_

_Perhaps Angel  
will never see  
his son again. _


	3. Illyria

ILLYRIA

Rain bleeds  
from  
the sky.

It combines  
itself with the  
multicolored  
demon  
blood on  
**Illyria's armor.**

It filters  
into the iris  
of her eyes:  
stinging like  
ice-fire.

Though the  
rain obstructs  
her vision it  
**does not hinder  
her ability to shatter**  
the spines  
of every  
dark creature  
that comes  
within her reach.

Even the  
sound of  
bone  
crunching  
**under the force of**  
Illyria's  
hands  
cannot quell

**her anger,  
her grief,  
her pain**.

Wesley!

The name  
screams  
in the caves  
of her mind  
bouncing  
recklessly  
against the  
walls of her  
cranium.

**Every time**  
she crushes  
another  
monster's  
skull

**she replays the same memory...**


	4. Memory two

…MEMORY

_The doors burst open.  
Illyria nearly dashes  
them to pieces  
but by some miracle  
they remain intact._

_Something is wrong with Wesley._

_She knows it long before  
she opens the doors._

_She doesn't know  
how she knows,  
but she knows._

_Illyria catches Wesley  
in her arms  
before he can  
meet the floor._

_His skin is clammy.  
His eyes are beginning to blur._

_Illyria is faced  
with the scalding  
knowledge  
that she was right,  
something was wrong._

_"Wesley."  
She says his name  
as if it were some  
dull fact  
printed in the pages  
of one of his books,  
but inside,  
an unfamiliar feeling  
crawls up the surface  
of her shell's backbone._

_He is wounded._

_She inspects  
the wound with a  
clinical eye._

_It is large and wet  
with his life's blood  
draining.  
He is losing blood  
too fast._

_Illyria's world  
begins to spin  
off its axis._

_Wesley,  
her teacher,  
her guide  
in this primitive world,  
is dying._

_"This wound is mortal."_

_Wesley touches  
the lesion in  
his abdomen  
then looks up  
at Illyria  
struggling for breath._

_"Aren't we all?"  
he replies.  
His tone slightly ironic._

_She studies  
Wesley's face;  
trying to understand  
how he can be ironic  
at a time like this._

_Humans are so  
strange  
and so…  
fragile._

_He smiles wryly,  
focusing his eyes  
upon the blue haired goddess._

_"It was good…  
that you came." _

_Illyria returns  
his gaze  
and states  
confusedly,  
"I killed all mine  
and I was…"_

_She searches  
for a word  
she cannot find._

_"Concerned?"  
He fills in for her,  
telling her  
the name of the  
feeling she has  
never experienced  
until today._

_He seems pleased  
and proud of her,  
proud that he  
has taught her  
what it means  
to be concerned._

_She has learned  
another human emotion._

_She tilts her head  
in thought  
the replies,_

_"I think so."_

_Her voice sounds  
abnormal to her.  
It almost sounds sad._

_Wesley was supposed  
to teach her all  
the human emotions.  
If in fact she chose  
to learn them._

_There are too many  
to learn and  
he doesn't have  
enough time  
to explain them all._

_"But I can't help.  
You'll be dead  
within moments."_

_There's not enough time._

_"I know."_

_Wesley's body is growing colder.  
His strength is waning.  
_

_Illyria does not wish  
to talk of death  
any longer._

_"Would you like me  
to lie to you now?"_

_She had told him  
earlier today that  
she could  
become Fred  
for him,  
so he could spend  
the day with the  
illusion of the  
one he loved  
before the battle._

_He would not accept  
her offer._

_He would not accept  
the lie._

_He would not accept  
a travesty of  
Winifred Burkle  
in place of the  
real one._

_And the real Fred  
was dead._

_Maybe he would  
allow her  
to lie to him now._

_"Yes,"  
he winces in pain,  
"Thank you.  
Yes."_

_He closes his eyes briefly._

_Illyria shifts her features,  
replacing  
her blue form  
for Fred's._

_Becoming more human._

_Replacing the truth  
with the lie._

_When Wesley's eyes open  
he sees Fred's face  
and offers her  
the best smile  
he can manage._

_"Hello there,"  
he croaks in greeting._

_He gathers a shuttering breath._

_Illyria's stomach clenches;  
the tears start to fall.  
Salt water dripping  
from the sea of her eyes.  
The tears splash on  
Wesley's face as  
she strokes his cheek._

_"Oh, Wesley.  
My Wesley."_

_Her speaking voice has changed._

_It is soft,  
warm,  
and filled with sorrow.  
It contains a slight  
Texas twang.  
She hopes the sound  
will comfort him._

_"Fred,"  
he whispers,  
"I've missed you."_

_She smiles down upon him._

_"It's gonna be okay,"  
she says reassuringly,  
"It won't hurt much longer,  
and then you'll be where I am.  
We'll be together."_

_It is of course a lie.  
_

_When Wesley dies  
he will not be  
reunited with  
his lost love  
in the afterlife._

_Winifred Burkle's  
soul was destroyed  
when Illyria took hold  
of her body._

_But the truth will not  
bring Wesley peace._

_"I…"  
he pauses and  
fights to finish,  
"I love you."_

_She places her lips  
gently to his._

_"I  
love  
you."_

_And Illyria does._

_This is not a lie  
as everything  
else has been._

_She cannot deny,  
even to herself,  
that she  
loves Wesley._

_He is gone now._

_Forever._

_She settles his head  
carefully to the floor._

_Sighing through gritted teeth  
she stands to face  
Cyvus Vail._

_Wesley's murderer._

_Anger floods Illyria's senses.  
_

_First this meaningless creature,  
Cyvus Vail,  
will die._

_Then all who serve  
The Wolf,  
The Ram,  
and The Hart._

_They have broken  
and humiliated her._

_Now she will  
return in kind  
every blow  
and every sting._


	5. Spike

SPIKE

Rain bleeds  
from  
the sky.

It soaks the  
lining of  
**Spike's**  
leather duster.

It filters  
into the iris  
of his eyes;  
biting like  
ardent fire.

Though the  
rain obstructs  
his vision  
it does not  
prevent  
him from  
separating  
demon heads  
from their  
shoulders.

The intoxication  
of the art of  
**battle**  
races  
through  
his being.

He slices,  
dices,  
and  
decapitates  
with  
**skill.**

It  
**is poetry in motion.  
Battle is the greatest**  
dance ever  
invented.

When hedoes this  
**dance**

the pain of  
loss,  
heartbreak,  
and guilt  
somehow  
eases.

**Still the pain cannot be forgotten.**

In between  
attackers  
his mind

replays the same…


	6. Memory Three

…MEMORY

_Spike sees Angel__  
appear in the alley  
behind the Hyperion._

_"Boo,"  
he says stepping  
out of the shadows;  
coming face to face  
with his grand-sire._

_"Anyone else,"  
Angel asks._

_He can tell Angel is worried.  
He feels the same concern.  
_

_If they are  
the only two left  
there is no way they  
are going to win this,  
and Spike knows  
from experience  
that dying isn't  
exactly a  
recreational activity._

_"Not so far.  
Do you feel the heat?"_

_"It's coming,"  
Angel responds._

_"Finally got ourselves  
a decent brawl."_

_He means for the comment  
to express excitement._

_The words leave his mouth  
with a bit of reluctance._

_Though the promise  
of battle  
exhilarates him,  
Spike also knows  
that this battle  
may be his last._

_The sound of  
foot steps  
echoes in  
his vampire ears,  
and Charles Gunn  
shows up  
at the end of the alley._

_He runs,  
walks,  
then stops  
in front of  
Spike and Angel._

_He reeks of  
his own blood spilling._

_"Damn,"  
Gunn exclaims,  
"How did I know  
the fang boys  
would pull through?  
You're lucky we're on the  
same side dogs,  
'cause I was on fire tonight.  
My game was tight."_

_Charles's voice grows weak  
and so does his body._

_He begins to fall,  
the two vampires  
catch him before  
he can hit the ground.  
_

_They set him  
on a crate and  
Gunn rests his back  
against the brick wall  
behind him._

_Spike looks at the  
ebony colored man._

_He has so many holes  
poked in him  
Spike is surprised  
Gunn made it to  
the alley at all._

_"You're supposed to wear  
the red stuff on the inside,  
Charlie boy,"  
Spike says in unhappy jest._

_Gunn ignores  
his own pain  
and inquires,  
"Any word on Wes?"_

_The metallic clatter  
of chain-link rattling  
resounds around the men._

_Illyria leaps over  
the fence  
landing on her feet  
on the other side._

_She looks like  
a deranged cat  
left in the rain  
and something  
about her face is off._

_She does not  
wear her normal  
blank expression  
but one of  
turbulent anger  
and loss._

_"Wesley's dead."_

_The words plummet from  
Blue's lips  
and topple  
on Spike like bricks._

_The blonde vamp  
hadn't really been  
close to the watcher  
but he had  
grown to like  
the book man._

_The pain of his death  
nips at him a bit. _

_"I am feeling grief for him,"  
she admits,  
"I can't seem to control it.  
I wish to do more violence."_

_Illyria's eyes glaze over  
with cold hard determination._

_Spike turns his attention  
to an approaching crowd._

_Demons;  
thousands of them.  
A massive army  
of horned and clawed  
creatures  
squeezing themselves  
into the confines of the alley._

_Bloody Hell!_

_"Well, wishes just  
happen to be  
horses today,"  
Spike says._

_An enraged dragon  
screams from above._

_"Among other things,"  
Angel adds._

_Gunn accesses the situation,  
"Okay. You take the  
thirty thousand  
on the left…"_

_"You're fading.  
You'll last  
ten minutes at best,"  
Illyria interrupts insensitively._

_Charles pries himself  
from his seat position  
with resolve.  
"Lets make them memorable."_

_Spike come to stand  
beside Angel,  
Gunn and Illyria  
follow behind._

_"In terms of plan?"  
Spike asks Angel._

_Peaches always has a plan.  
Spike never plans,  
but using that  
strategy in battle  
has failed him in the past._

_Surprisingly Angel answers with,_

_"We fight."_

_That's the plan?_

_"Bit more specific?"  
he says hoping _

_Angel is joking._

_"Well, personally,  
I want to  
slay the dragon.  
Lets go to work."_

_As the demons of darkness  
attack Spike  
he thinks of her._

_He tries not to  
but he can't help it._

_He thinks of Buffy;  
gallivanting  
around Italy  
with Dawn  
and that wanker the Immortal._

_Probably having  
the time of her life._

_Never knowing  
he's alive,  
never knowing  
he's most likely  
going to die again._


	7. Troika

TROIKA

Three warriors battle  
the forces of  
The Wolf,  
The Ram,  
and The Hart.

Angel,

**(Angel's hands  
cannot win.  
There is so little  
to live for,  
still he fights.  
If he doesn't,  
who else will?)**

Illyria,

**(Illyria'a armor  
does not hinder  
her ability to shatter  
under the force of  
her anger,  
her grief,  
her pain.)**

and Spike

**(Spike's battle skill  
is poetry in motion.  
Battle is the  
greatest dance,  
still the pain  
cannot be forgotten.)**

They are  
fire,  
pure heat,  
and endless passion.

Even it they lose,  
the memory of  
these three will  
not fade away.

Rain bleeds  
from the sky  
reminding  
each one of them  
that even  
the sky  
can cry.


End file.
